


Space Dust

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some hours after the Nerada, Jim’s alone for the first time</p><p>Intriguing snippet: <i> Jim feels like a phony – this is Pike’s territory and he’s a stowaway morphed into Captain through chance.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to challenge # 9 at st11forxi - http://community.livejournal.com/st11forxi/3037.html - There and Back Again - Unbeta’d.

**space dust**

 

He’s not sure how long it’s been since that lurch, the break, The Enterprise making a bolt for it; the final push of a fetus taking its first painful, breath.

Maybe three hours, maybe six…

And finally, it’s just him. Just Jim.

The doors swish behind him and he’s knows he’s made a big mistake coming here.

The captain’s quarters, _Pike’s_ quarters, are entirely empty of any personal effects. ‘Course, none of them had a moment to pack anything but he’s half-surprised there isn’t at the very least, a case on the bed, a family holo on the night stand.

There’s that new-car smell – it’s comforting after the acrid smoke, sweat and _fuck_ the smell of blood that’s snaked into his bones, settled there. He feels like a carbuncle on perfect skin, standing here, stinking the place out.

He leans against the wall, runs a hand to the nape of his neck and tells the computer to lock the door.

Jim feels like a phony – this is Pike’s territory and he’s a stowaway morphed into Captain through chance. He’s never believed in luck – it doesn’t fit with him at all. Life’s what you make of it – he should know; it’s like he’s purposely taken every wrong turn off the highway since he left home just to prove it to himself. The cat with fucking nine lives – he has to smile, that the only metaphor which fits, is a creature he’s allergic to.

The slate colored walls are smooth, masculine, new. He wonders if Pike chose this color then thinks what an idiot he is; what the fuck does that have to do with _anything_?

It’s some time before he’s summoned up the courage to take a step into the living area. Last time he did this, snooped around, was when he went into his Mom’s room and opened all her drawers, looked though her things, sniffed her clothing, hacked into her PADD hidden in the underwear drawer. Here there’s nothing to learn.

He scans the small but inviting couch, wonders when a captain would find time to lounge on it, glances at the bathroom door, the replicator in the dining area. There’s some shitty, corporate art on one wall – a massive, blood red piece of shit that looks like an open wound. He opens a drawer and slams it shut instantly when he sees a gold shirt. Fuck.

Well, he’s here now, might as well take a shower - then he’ll go back.

It hurts to undress. He’s not really registered any pain until now but, when he lets himself, he realizes it’s like he’s been chewed up and spat out. In fact, it would be quicker to find some place that doesn’t ache. He stands before the mirror in the bathroom and turns a circle to examine the bruises on his back, then leans in to explore the cut on his cheek. It looks like a bite-mark. He doesn’t _think_ he’s been bitten by anything in the past twenty-four hours, but he’s lost track. He brushes his teeth and winces when a drop of tooth-paste stings the raw skin of his knuckles.

He steps over the pile of clothing at his feet, black snakeskin, empty, macabre – no longer part of him.

The water’s scalding and he stares at it running down the plug; his pale, and chilblain covered toes don’t look part of him anymore. He twitches them to check and registers another bit of damage somewhere. He reaches for the shower gel, apple scent, oh sweet irony, and finds himself mesmerized by the movement of his hands as he lathers up, careful to avoid any open wounds, wondering at the miracle of life, how the hell it is that his hands move at all, how he’s still alive when—

When it hits him like another punch to the face, and this one hurts like fuck; he realizes that this must have been how his Mom felt, after he was born. He starts to shake. The water's turning cold, it’s a way of forcing him out of the shower, he knows that, he could tell the computer to crank up the heat again, but he doesn’t, it’s kind of poetic, matches how he feels on the inside. His eyes prickle and he cusses, punches the tile, and winces at the pain. He’s relieved he can feel anything at all.

He’s managed to get some shampoo in his eye, the sting like a shard of glass revealing the ugly truth of his life to him and, though he rubs and scours, he can’t stop the tears falling, the sobs wracking his body; that he should be so fucking selfish, make everything about _him_ when it’s never been like that. Judging people’s insides from their outsides is what a kid does. Shit, even a dog can tell what’s going on in someone’s heart and he’s a so-called genius.

And now he’s laughing and it brings back the faces in the crowded meeting room.

“We need some booze, and that’s an order!” he said, and someone, knew someone who’d smuggled some aboard, and before long, they were chinking glasses, slapping each other on the back, coughing at the burn of whiskey. He examined their faces, met everyone’s eye in turn, mentioned how fucking lucky they were, registered Spock’s disapproval at his cussing, a faint twitch of an eyebrow, “Well, you know, everything’s turned on a pin,” he said. “We are some lucky bastards!”

Yeah, it was one chance decision after another, a messy broken web of links and threads, what if, what if, what if Bones hadn’t smuggled him onto the ship, what if he hadn’t overheard Uhura, what if he hadn’t been a cheating bastard that had to win everything?

Then Sulu told them about the 'parking brake' incident and they all roared with laughter – it was the first he’d heard of it and he’d felt an ice-cold grip at his heart just as the laughter faded. They all glanced at each other, guilt, relief, joy, fear and shock rippling around them.

He caught Uhura looking at Spock and he wondered what The Vulcan was thinking, realized he actually knew what he was thinking, and Jim couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there. Said he needed a shower – for the good of his crew and they’d all laughed again.

“Yeah, Jim, you smell like a hors’ rolled in its own shit!” Bones had pitched in. He was standing by the door-way so he could leave for sickbay soon as this was over. He’d been watching Jim throughout the meeting in silence, assessing him, supporting him – the only one there who probably had any clue what a fucking phony he was. And, Jim knew, the quip, it was just Bones’ way of reminding him the meeting was over and if _he_ left, if he of all people could take care of himself, they’d all try and take a break too. Lead by example an all that—

He steps out of the shower-stall and pulls an enormous white towel around him, dries off quickly and wraps it round his hips and heads for the computer.

“Mom, it’s me,” he says, “I, er…I wanted to say I’m alright, in case you’d heard, you know…” he gulps down another swarm of tears collecting behind his eyes, “and you know – I’m sorry.”

He stares at the blank screen. Not today; there’s other people’s moms he should talk to first. Winona’s used to this shit. He’s used to this shit. They haven’t spoken in years and another couple of hours, days, won’t hurt either of them. He needs to grow the fuck up.

He takes a breath and opens that drawer again, selects a black undershirt, some boxers, some rec pants and clean socks and tosses them on the bed.

Just one more minute.

He stands by the window looking at the star field. There’s not a clue, not a thumb-print, nor a piece of wreckage out there to indicate what they’ve all been through. He’s a speck of dust, he realizes, _they all are_.

He drops his towel and stands naked before the universe. Stretches his arms out to the side, widens his stance and throws back his head. He gulps a long breath and turns his back on the empty-hearted beauty of space.

Now he’s ready, ready to lead, and he dresses quickly and sprints out of his quarters down to engineering to lend a hand.

~END~


	2. Future Altering Paradoxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the Narada incident, The Enterprise is almost back home. Things are quiet and Jim pays Bones a visit in sickbay to discuss the future. A sequel, to 'Space Dust'
> 
> Intriguing snippet: _“No. If we can’t change anything, we can’t change anything. Maybe some things are meant to happen and it’s like whatever road you take, you always get back to the same destination.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in response to challenge # 10 at st11forx1 - http://community.livejournal.com/st11forxi/3104.html - Postcards from the Future. Unbeta'd

**Future Altering Paradoxes**

Jim sauntered into sickbay. It was the middle of gamma shift, not that any rosters had been drawn up; who’d had time for that? But it had been five days now, since they’d beaten Nero and he, all the crew had pretty much stayed awake as long as they could hold on, grabbing naps whenever. They’d be back home in a few hours. Things had settled down and most had retreated to their own mental corners to take stock, enjoy the quiet until the shit hit the fan and then it would be debriefings, memorials, the press, questions, more questions.

He spotted Bones in his office and nodded to him, then briefly checked on Pike who slept on in his private room nearby. He went to the replicator and made two teas, black for him, sweet and milky for Bones.

“How’s it going?” he said, placing the cup near a pile of PADDS.

“Just dandy. I’m havin’ the time of my life?” McCoy pushed his chair away from the desk to give Jim room to perch and he raised his cup in a toast.

“Look at us, eh Jim?”

Jim shrugged, “yep, look at us?”

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few minutes then, when Bones moved a hand towards the PADDS to pick up where he’d left off, Jim said with his best serious voice,

“Bones, I’ve been thinking—“

“Why does my blood always run cold when you start a sentence like that?” Bones rolled his eyes, sipped his tea and glanced into sickbay when a nurse walked past, “also, don’t you have any work to do?”

“Nah, not a thing – just like you.”

Bones gave him a thin smile, “Yeah, that’s the great thing about being in charge, you have people running around, doing everything for you. I’ve been sat on my ass for days.”

Jim chuckled, “Actually, I’m avoiding Spock.”

“Very wise.”

“He’s refusing to sleep, and, so Uhura tells me, if he doesn’t take some time-out and meditate soon or something, he’ll blow!”

McCoy snorted. “He’s like a teenager. A Vulcan teenager throwing logical tantrums - then he’s nice as pie again.”

“Kind of like human teenagers, then—?“

“He’s been through more than the rest of us – grief fucks with you in ways you can’t predict. He’s obviously strugglin’ with his self control, and anger, well… I know this shit, I’ve got a degree in psychology.”

“In _Vulcan_ psychology?”

“Well, maybe not.” They both laughed again. “So what were you thinking, though I know you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“On top of everything else, imagine meeting your future self?”

“I can’t.”

“It’d be one big mind-fuck.”

“That it would.”

“Especially when he’s so much nicer than you!”

“Not difficult in his case.”

“Give him a break, Bones, he’s not so bad.”

Bones rolled his eyes.

“So, you two best buddies now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s, you know, he’s alright. He just needs to lighten up.”

“Imagine the conversations they’re gonna have—“ Bones leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on the desk.

“Nice Spock won’t say anything to him - future altering paradoxes or something. He only told me as much as I needed to know, so I could—“ Jim gulped, this train of thought made him feel like shit. He’d kicked a dog when it was down. He looked at Bones, “he told me about my dad.” He cleared his throat and sighed when he noted the look of concern on Bones’ face.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was…he was proud of me.”

Bones dropped his feet to the floor and scooted the chair closer and touched Jim’s hand lightly, “So he should have been, _should_ be I mean. Fuck, you know—“

“Yeah.” Jim shrugged, shook his head like a wet dog and stood up. He picked up the two cups and tossed them in the recycler. “I should try and catch some sleep.” He didn’t move. “Still, imagine if it was you or me, if _we_ got to meet our alternate selves.”

“Can’t say as I’d like it,” Bones said rubbing his eyes, “but it would be kinda nice to share some medical stuff.”

“That it? That’s what you’d ask? You’re unbelievable.”

“Well, maybe I’d ask him to give me a smack upside the head for getting married so young.” Their eyes met. This was fucking nice, it felt so normal, so them, Bones teasing him, him rolling with the punches. “So what would you talk to Older, _Nicer_ James T Kirk about, smart-ass? He could give you a whole lot of pointers so you’d actually get on with the brass – no?”

“Nope. I’m not into older guys, even awesome ones with the same DNA as me, telling me how to lead my life.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Plus, you’d have to be careful what you asked. You could change future events big time.”

“No. If we can’t change anything, we can’t change anything. Maybe some things are meant to happen and it’s like whatever road you take, you always get back to the same destination.” Jim watched Bones’ long fingers as he emphasized his point. “It’s like, I’d wager you and me, we’re still friends in the other universe. Did you ask him?”

“I didn’t need to; I saw it, when he did that voodoo shit on me,” Jim let out a puff and placed his hand on his face like Spock had done. “We were still friends.”

“Well, there you go – you can’t change shit, even if you know what’s coming. Some things are meant to be.”

“Nah, I can’t believe that. I’d keep to safe territory.”

“If you’re right and I’m wrong, there’s no such thing as safe territory. It’s like the butterfly effect.”

“How about if it was something innocuous, like,” Jim thought for a moment, “what about I asked Nice Spock how to beat Brat Spock at chess?”

“Still wouldn’t work. You could totally fuck him up like that and he’d end up leaving Starfleet then you’d never be ‘totally best friends’.” Bones air-quoted to add effect to his teenage girl impression. Jim laughed.

“This is making my fucking head hurt.” Then he slapped his thigh, “I know!”

“God help me.”

“I could fuck myself!”

“But that would be wrong – so wrong!”

“What? It would be totally hot! Also, I’m sure it doesn’t break any laws and I have a really big—”

“Jesus, Jim, your _are_ a big dick!” his tone was sharp, he looked tired but his eyes were warm, fond.

Jim dropped his voice conspiratorially, “Yeah, I am, but this is our secret, ‘k? I can still be a dick with you, right?”

“Sure you can, kid – don’ let me stop you.”

“Do you suppose I was a dick in the other timeline?”

“Yeah— I’d stake my stones on it. And I’ll bet I _still_ got married to Joss—“

“Yeah, you did.”

Bones shook his head, “See? I’m right and you’re wrong.”

Jim made for the door, then he thought better of it, “Computer, lock the door.”

“Jim?”

Bones was right behind him and they almost stumbled into each other.

Fuck it.

Jim took a deep breath and lifted a hand to rest it on Bones’ arm. He scanned Bones’ face then leaned close and whispered in his ear, “I don’t believe in fate, Bones,” and with his heart in his throat, he kissed Bones lightly on the lips and grinned at his stunned expression. Well, he hadn’t punched him yet so, “ _Carpe diem_ —“ and he slipped his hand round the back of Bone’s neck and pulled his mouth closer, slid his tongue tentatively between his lips and sagged when Bones parted them, felt his arm slip around him. It was sweet, hesitant, but, _thank you_ , far from one-sided.

When they eventually pulled apart, Bones’ hands dropped to his sides and he gaped at Jim, his brow furrowed.

“You are one crazy, don't-look-before-you-leap, asshole,” his voice was thick, full of feeling.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Computer, unlock doors.”

And he swaggered out, never looking back, the heat of Bones’ gaze burning him. The future, despite everything, never looked brighter.

~END~


End file.
